


Paralyzed

by lionessvalenti



Series: An Interesting Series [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal didn't think seeing the man who pushed him from that fire escape would be that difficult. He was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paralyzed

It was funny, but Neal liked courtrooms. He didn't like them so much when he was the one on trial, but there was something about the way lawyers spun their stories to suit their needs. To make defendants look like victims and discredit those who had been wronged. It worked both ways, too. He knew what it was like to be made an example of.

In another life, he could have done this. He probably would have been good at it, too.

"Glad it's not you up there?" Peter asked, and though Neal's back was to him, he could hear the smile in his voice.

Neal turned his chair around so he could face his friend. "I'm always glad when it's not me up there. I wish they'd let me talk, though."

"Yeah, I know. But believe, I have more than enough to say." Peter smiled ruefully. "When it's my turn, I won't let the jury get out of here without knowing exactly what happened to you."

Neal had been both looking forward to and dreading Robert McKee's trial. He wanted McKee to go away for a long time, even if it wasn't going to bring back his ability to walk. But someone had to pay, why not the guy who shoved him off the fire escape?

The DA had said that with Neal's record, the defense would be quick to discredit him, and his testimony wouldn't work in their favor. Neal tried to point out that it was about more than just the accident, that he had seen McKee's more laundering process firsthand, but it was not good. However, Neal was still invited to come witness the trial. It wouldn't be a bad thing to remind the jury that this man was responsible for putting someone in a wheelchair.

He was just a sympathy card.

"Is Sara coming?"

Neal looked up at Peter. "Huh?"

Peter was smiling at him. "I asked if Sara was coming."

"Oh, no. She wanted to, but she has to work. She said she'd try to make time when we got to the sentencing. That'll probably be when I'll need her."

"I wouldn't worry about it. The case is rock solid." What he was trying to say was, _Don't feel like you're not doing anything because they're not letting you testify. It's going to be okay_.

Neal nodded and smiled. "I think so, too." He looked around the room, the seats slowly filling up. "Do you want to sit? We need to make sure we get you an aisle seat."

They settled three rows back, and Neal smiled at everyone who gave him a second look. Anyone who was coming to witness this trial knew about the CI who'd been injured by McKee. He glanced over at Peter. "Should I look more somber? This ruined my life after all."

Three months ago, there was no way Neal could have made that comment, even though he wasn't completely serious. It certainly _changed_ his life, but he didn't feel it was ruined, though Peter had thought so for a long time. It was nice that he didn't have to whisper about his disability when in Peter's presence.

Peter smiled, and maybe it was a little forced. "You should be yourself. That gets you everywhere, doesn't it?"

"Touché."

A near near the front of the room and opened and McKee walked out wearing a suit, flanked by his defense council.

Neal couldn't remember the fall, but he remembered a lot about that day. He remembered the heavy smell of McKee's cologne mixed with sweat, and his sharp green eyes. Neal was panicking when he was hanging halfway over the fire escape, but McKee wasn't. He could see it in calculating eyes. If he could just get through this man who'd been made as a CI in his organization, then he could get away. And that was exactly what he did.

Neal stared at him, and from across the room McKee locked eyes with him.

"Neal?" Peter asked in a low voice, but Neal didn't reply.

He couldn't breathe, his heart suddenly pounding in his throat. He was nowhere near McKee, but he could still smell that cologne. He could feel those hands on him and the railing digging into his back, even though he couldn't feel that low anymore. He remembered glancing over his shoulder and seeing how far away the ground seemed and the queasiness that followed. Even then, he didn't think he'd actually fall. He didn't doubt that McKee would push him, but if he'd had a chance to think about it, he would have thought he was one of those miraculous cases. You heard about them, the people who fall from tremendous heights and get up and walk away.

He never thought he would have been the one to break his back and be in a wheelchair. No one ever thinks it will happen to them.

But here he was, sweating and shaking, and he couldn't look away from McKee. He needed to turn away, to look somewhere -- anywhere -- else, but he was frozen, completely paralyzed from head to toe. He knew what it was like to not be able to move some of his body, and now he couldn't move any of it.

Peter rested a hand on Neal's arm. "Neal, are you okay?"

"I have to get out of here," Neal croaked, far louder than he meant to. A few people turned and looked. He tried to put his hands to his wheels, but he couldn't make his hands work. It was like McKee had taken that, too. All they did was lay at his sides and shake.

"Okay, it's okay," Peter said as he got to his feet. He walked around Neal and took hold of the wheelchair. He pushed Neal out of the room, and down the hall, near the bathrooms. "Just breathe," he said.

Neal blinked. He couldn't believe this was happening, but he took a long, slow breath and then looked up at Peter. "I think I'm having a panic attack," he said.

"No kidding." Peter crouched down so he was eye-level with Neal. Neal hated it when people did that, like they were talking to a child, but this time he didn't snap. He didn't have it in him. "What happened? Was it just seeing him?"

Neal nodded weakly. "It was like it was happening all over again. It was every nightmare I have about the fall, except... it was like it was happening all over again. That's the man that did this to me. I wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for him." He let out a choked noise that might have been a cough or a sob, but he wasn't going to let it get any further than that. He could swallow his emotions.

Peter gazed at him with solemn eyes. "Do you need anything? Water or...?"

"I just want to go home," Neal replied, the words out of his mouth before he even thought about them. He wanted to be a help, to sit there let people pity him and have the jury vote guilty, but he couldn't do it. "I can't stay here."

"Okay."

He was grateful that Peter didn't ask anything else. It was hard enough to make his mouth work without someone trying to pry feelings out of him.

Peter stood up and went to walk to the back of the chair, but Neal held up a hand.

"I can do it," he said. He might not be able to stay in the same room with McKee, but he wasn't going to let him strip away anymore dignity than he'd already taken. Neal could wheel his own damn self out of the courthouse. What was Peter going to do? Lift him out of the chair and put him in the car? That would have been too humiliating to even consider. No, he had to do this himself.

They didn't speak until they were on the road, which in New York City terms meant sitting in traffic. Neal looked over and smiled as best he could. Smiling when he didn't mean it was something Neal had spent a lot of time working on over the years.

"I didn't think that was going to happen," he said. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy to see McKee again, but just seeing his face... it was different than looking at the pictures. I just didn't think."

"Me either," Peter said. "Do you want me to call someone? Sara? The therapist?"

"No, no, I'm fine now," Neal said, though his hands were still clammy and shaking a little. "We'll talk to the therapist on Monday and Sara will probably come over after work. It's not an emergency."

"Neal--"

Neal shook his head. "No, I don't... I don't want to talk about it, Peter. Thank you for getting me out of there."

"My pleasure. We're lucky I'm not testifying until later this week," Peter said with a wry smile. "This way I don't have to go back."

They were silent through a few traffic lights, and with his eyes pointedly looking out the window, Neal said, "He didn't care."

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"McKee," Neal said. He didn't know why he was talking about it when just said that he didn't want to, but the words were suddenly spilling out. "He didn't care that he shoved me off that fire escape. He probably liked it since he knew I was working with the FBI. When I saw him in there today... his eyes looked exactly like they did that day. He knew it was me, he remembered what he did, and he still didn't care."

"Neal," Peter said softly.

"Tell me how solid the case is again," Neal said before Peter could say anything else. There wasn't anything else _to_ say. He didn't want to be comforted. There was only comfort in knowing that McKee was going to pay.

"Rock solid. He's going to go away."

"Good." Neal nodded at his reflection in the window. "Good."


End file.
